


Under the Influence

by Khadgarfield



Series: Hic Svnt Leones [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: A little bit of Brat, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, CNC, Consensual Non-Consent, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Edgeplay, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Memory Loss, Mentions of Past Edwin Vancleef/Mathias Shaw, Not Strictly SSC, Power Exchange, Rape Roleplay, Subspace, light blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27063520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khadgarfield/pseuds/Khadgarfield
Summary: Two men meet in a bar at night.PLEASE read tags and warning included at the start of the fic thank you
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Series: Hic Svnt Leones [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975195
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic contains a description of a consensual simulated date-rape scene (CNC, or Consensual Non-Consent). As such, extreme trigger warnings apply. Please DO NOT READ if you are either concerned about this content, or at risk of being triggered by this content. Please be safe and responsible when enjoying fan content on the net. 
> 
> Much love from your friend Garf

The pub was very loud, and dimly lit. Mathias sat alone at the bar playing idly with a crumpled napkin. The bartender, for the most part, ignored him, and the other patrons, in varied states of intoxication, were far too busy playing darts and throwing dice to pay attention to a lone gentleman dressed in simple clothes and a lambskin coat. Mathias had learned it was always better to dress down for this kind of occasion. No royal livery, or gold coins in the pouch that hung on his belt. Only the simple dagger he had tucked into his boot bore any value, and only then it was of the sentimental type. He had even neglected to shave this morning, to avoid any undue attention brought about by a clean face. Any outsider may have believed Mathias belonged here. Or at least, would accept the explanation that he had had years of practice, infiltrating unsafe space.

Experience though, couldn’t stop him from jumping at the sound of a heavy stool scraping across the floor behind him. The wooden boards underfoot creaked under a great weight - the person dragging the stool came to a stop, and dropped down to next to him at the bar.

“Alright, Mate? You look a little lonely back here alone.”

“Do I?”

Mathias glanced at the person next to him from the corner of his eye. He was a Kul Tiran man, large and fit and not much older than thirty, if that. He had facial hair, a ponytail, and he was dressed in about twenty layers of clothing. Probably appropriate, considering the weather recently. His accent, of course, was heavy and out of place in even the more dubious parts of Stormwind, but Mathias had always found it a pleasant accent to listen to. Effortlessly charming. Even if hearing it now made the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end.

“Sure do. Mind if I keep you company?”

“Not at all.” He paused for a moment, then added. “You can even have the honor of buying me a drink.”

Mathias flicked the crumpled napkin he had been toying with aside, feigning disinterest in the person sitting next to him. It skidded across the polished wooden surface of the bar, and landed a reasonable distance away on the floor.

“That’s the spirit,” The Kul Tiran smiled. He shucked his outer layer, an ancient looking coat and a roughly knitted scarf, and lay them down across the bar where they dripped miserably. Mathias could smell him, the scent of rain was still on his skin and Mathias could smell the heat of him too. It was warm. Welcoming. Salt and faded shaving soap and the faintest lick of sweat. “What can I get you?”

“Mmm.” Mathias wasn’t much of a hard drinker. The bottles lined up on the back shelf of this bar looked a little rough for him. Would it be remiss to order a glass of apple juice? He thought, as he looked at the bartender wiping dirty glasses with an even dirtier towel, that that might blow his entire cover. The man slinging drinks was missing an eye, but Mathias didn’t doubt he’d be able to spot an SI:7 agent if he had any reason to suspect one. “I’ll have a cider.”

“Just a cider?!” The Kul Tiran seemed incredulous. “Take it easy! Tidemother have mercy…”

“Just get me the _fucking_ cider.”

He added a short “please,” as an afterthought. Colour began to rise in his face when he realized the other man was laughing at him.

“Alright mate, alright. Cider it is.” He held out a hand to summon the barman closer. Mathias pressed his lips into a thin line.

 _This is a stupid idea,_ he thought. _And dangerous. Maybe I should just leave._

The bartender stood in front of them now, looking expectantly at his company, and then at him, waiting for one of them to order. His single working eye lingered on Mathias for a moment longer than he would have liked, as if noticing Mathias had a face that was unmarked by dirt and completely unscarred. This was probably unusual, around these parts, but not unusual enough for him to say anything about it. When the man sitting next to Mathias ordered a cider and a double shot of whiskey on the rocks, he grunted, and turned around to give him what he wanted.

Mathias sucked in a deep breath, and turned his body to look at the other man properly.

Ah, he really was handsome, in a rugged kind of way. Mathias felt his heart skip a beat, as he took in dark auburn hair, a nose that looked like it was probably broken more than once in his lifetime, and his eyes, which were fixed on him intently and glinting in the low light.

“I’m Flynn,” The man said, the faintest shadow of a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“Mathias,” Mathias told him.

“Nice to meet you, Mathias.”

The way his mouth held his name made Mathias’s aging knees feel weak. He was glad to be sitting in his chair. Flynn held out his hand, and for a moment Mathias wasn’t sure if he should shake it, or do as the Kul Tiran’s did and grasp it and squeeze. He opted for the latter, and just for a moment amusement flickered over Flynn's face. The man squeezed back, and his grip was powerful. Too powerful. Mathias wondered if he would be able to break free of his grip if he wanted to, without the use of his hidden knife.

“Nice to meet you too.”

Flynn released his hand and sat back. When the barman returned and dropped two short glasses in front of him, he didn’t even complain that the foamy piss-coloured liquid Mathias _assumed_ was supposed to be his cider sloshed out of the glass and onto his coat and scarf. He conjured four silver coins from a pouch at his belt, and pressed them into the barkeeps filthy hand. And then he hesitated.

“This enough?” he asked. The barkeep sneered at him.

“For an extra silver, I’ll go stand at the other end of the bar.”

This earned him another _two_ coins from Flynn.

Mathias watched the exchange with narrowed eyes.

“What’s that about?” He asked, as the bartender pocketed the coins and shuffled away to the other end of the space, closer to the clutch of drunken men playing darts. That seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Flynn shrugged.

“I get the feeling you aren’t keen to have folks poking around your business,” He said, and holding Mathias’s glass by the rim he lifted it from the ring of spilled cider forming around its base. The movement was… awkward. Exaggerated. Not the kind of motion a normal person would make. Mathias felt an odd twist in his stomach as Flynn set the glass down again, in front of him.

It really did look detestable. Mathias wasn’t sure it was possible to fuck up cider, but perhaps someone had managed to do so somewhere in the supply chain for this specific bar. He stared at the glass for a moment, at the colour, and the bubbles, and he could faintly smell the rotten apple scent it emanated.

“No,” Mathias told him. “That’s true enough.”

He lifted the glass and brought it to his lips. He could feel Flynn watching him keenly, his own drink still untouched, and it really did just taste _awful._ Worse than he had thought. At least he could tell it wasn’t particularly alcoholic – whoever brewed it had barely avoided producing a simple spoiled juice.

Flynn seemed to relax a little, after he had taken his first sip. He brought his own glass up and drunk all of its contents in one go. Mathias watched his throat as he swallowed, visualizing the map of his arteries, imagining his pulse under his skin. He set the glass down, the knobby lumps of ice in the bottom knocking against the sides with a cold clink, and wiped his mouth roughly on the back of his hand. It was impressive – Mathias didn’t doubt the whiskey here was about as good as the cider, and Flynn handled it as though he was shooting water – but he managed to maintain a neutral expression.

“Do you do that because you think it will make men want to fuck you?” He asked. Flynn gave him a wicked smile.

“It works, sometimes. Do you regularly get drinks from people you proceed to make fun of?”

“This is the first time.” Mathias turned away from him and had another mouthful of his drink. Flynn laughed.

“You aren’t impressed?”

“I’m more impressed by this cider,”

“Then how _can_ I impress you? Dare I ask.”

“You can’t,” Mathias lied. “You’re not my type.”

Flynn tsked softly - the shadow of his body shifted, and he leaned so close that Mathias could feel his breath against the shell of his ear.

“I like a challenge,” He whispered, and the low hum of his voice sent a shiver down Mathias back. “let me try.”

A hand drifted across the space between them. Mathias tensed as it came to rest on his upper thigh. He glanced at the bartender, who was much too busy watching the dart game unfolding on the other side of the room to even remember they were there. Flynn's hand was out of sight anyway, hidden by shadow, and although it was enough to be present it was not hard enough to be aggressive. Yet. Every fiber of Mathias’ body though, was on guard. He could feel decades of careful training coiling in his muscles, thrumming with his blood in his veins.

“Watch yourself,” his voice almost cracked, betraying the fact that his heart was beating so fast it felt like it was trying to escape.

“Or what? You’re gonna stab me?”

“I’ve stabbed men far more intimidating than you.”

Flynn's hand on his thigh tightened. The contact place felt hot, the gentle throb of a burn developing under his palm, and Mathias’s skin was beginning to tingle strangely. It felt like he was on the verge of breaking into a sweat. He only had half a glass of cider left… The thought of finishing it, though, made him feel sick, and his hand shook just a little as he brought the glass to his lips.

It went down like a demon, struggling the whole time. He finished it and smacked the glass down on the bar in triumph.

“Thanks for the drink,” He said, as a wave of nausea washed over him. “it was fucking horrible.” 

“Yeah it didn’t look great,” Flynn said. “For that matter, neither do you.”

“You were trying to fuck me thirty seconds ago.”

“Not what I mean. You look like you’re about to heave it all up again.”

There was a tone of fear in his voice. The grip on Mathias’ leg eased, just a fraction. Mathias shook his head, and leaned over the bar with his elbows against the smooth, cool wood.

“I’m fine,” He insisted, but the way his words came out made it obvious that he wasn’t. “never been better.”

The prickle on his skin had turned into a feverish heat, spreading across his back and up his neck. The place Flynn was touching him felt like the core of a star radiating over his skin. He could feel the touch all up his leg, was aware of it slithering higher, closer to his manhood, and with a soft moan he let himself slip sideways against Flynn's body. With his head against his broad, hard chest, he could hear that his heart was beating almost as fast as Mathias’ own.

_Oh, light._

The universe felt like it was starting to spin out of kilter, and the sounds of the other patrons laughing and yelling across the bar warbled louder, then receded again into a skin crawling drone.

“Uh,” Flynn moved his hand from his leg hurriedly, trying to prop Mathias up with an arm curled around his waist. Mathias could tell even through the bizarre, static haze that filled his skull, that Flynn was on the verge of panic. He wanted to tell him he was fine, that Flynn needed to calm the fuck down and stay focused, but he just couldn’t manage. Instead, he groaned when the hand was removed, and he felt his chair slip out from underneath him. His legs were weak, hardly able to hold his weight, and he clung to Flynn's front with all the strength he had left.

“M-Mattie?”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Was all Mathias could manage. He curled his fingers hard into the shirt beneath his hands. Flynn was standing, hauling him up, holding him against his side so he didn’t turn to water and collapse into a puddle. He knocked his empty glass over in his hurry, sending ice skittering across the bar like the napkin had skittered before.

_Don’t lose your cool now, Flynn. Keep it together, please._

Somehow, thankfully, Flynn must have realized that whatever he was going to do about the situation, he wouldn’t be able to do it here. The world passed by in a blur of burning golden light as he grabbed his coat and scarf and helped Mathias stumble to the door. The candles that had been so dim just ten minutes earlier seemed to blaze in Mathias’ vision as they passed them by, and more than once he almost tripped over his own feet. He walked into a table. He felt drunk, but at the same time he really, really didn’t, and Flynn was grabbing him all over, trying to guide him like he was a ship moving through jagged rocks on a coastline, pulling him to the door and then outside into the cold, wet air.

It was drizzling softly outside, puddles splashed underfoot as Mathias stumbled out and found a wooden beam to lean on, next to a mailbox. Flynn's breath puffed in silver, and the chill of the night was a salve for the fever of indoors even if Mathias was shivering like a leaf in a wintery breeze.

“Are you okay,” Flynn pressed in a low, fearful whisper. His eyes were wide, and his countenance not at all like it had been in the bar. Mathias whined at him in annoyance, too overwhelmed by the feeling of the night caressing him to express a coherent thought, but he did manage to nod and a strange expression passed over Flynn's face. Almost like he was steeling himself for something.

Perhaps he was.

“Ok. I mean, doesn’t matter, right? Are you gonna let me take you home now even if I’m not your type?”

Mathias nodded again, cheek pressing against the wooden beam he was leaning on, registering the scrape of rough wood on his cheek through what felt like cotton wool in his brain. He was aware, deep in the back of his mind, that he probably looked completely fucked, but he wasn’t really aware enough to care. When Flynn took his arm, and pulled him into his chest, he gave no resistance. He couldn’t have found the strength. He let Flynn bow his head and crush him against his body and kiss him deeply, and the sensation of his mouth and beard merged strangely with the sense that he had no power in any of his limbs, let alone the mental composure to push Flynn away. His hands flopped uselessly against Flynn's upper arms, but that was it. The kiss ended when Flynn decided to end it, and Mathias felt completely boneless against him.

“Am I going to have to carry you?” He mused quietly, close enough to Mathias’s ear for him to hear it but not close enough that his lips were touching the flushed skin on the side of his neck. Another nod in response. All he could manage.

Flynn guided Mathias’ arms around his neck, and hoisted him up with relative ease. The ground lurched, seeming to disappear beneath him, and then he was being carried like a babe down the street towards Old Town. He was about as composed as an infant, shivering when Flynn’s hair tickled the side of his face and whimpering pathetically when one of the hands holding him dug a little too firmly into his hip.

Flynn carried him home effortlessly, as though he wasn’t carrying any weight at all, and being in a familiar quiet space did not help Mathias feel any better than he had out in the open. When Flynn set him down, he flopped against the wall beside the door before Flynn had even locked it behind them. A soft curse, and then a hand on his arm, yanking him upright again so that he could be dragged over to the bed. Despite having something solid and flat beneath his back, Mathias felt as though he was spiraling downwards. The pull of unconsciousness was starting to haze around the edge of his awareness. His mind was simultaneously present, and very far away.

“Dark in here,” Flynn’s voice warbled through the air like it was travelling through water. The moisture on his skin, sweat and fine rain, made Mathias’ feel like he really might be drowning. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Mathias, of course, couldn’t tell him if he did. He could only lie there, trembling and struggling to stay above the rising tide of oblivion, while the dark Kul Tiran shilouette bowed over him and pulled open his shirt. The sensation of cloth tearing made all the hairs on his body stand on end. Rough hands skated over his chest and stomach, and above him Flynn made a noise that might have been appreciation, or frustration, or a mix of both.

“ _Tides,_ you’re hot,” He murmured. “I’m going to completely _destroy_ you, I think.”

Mathias could feel the way he said it in the marrow of his bones. The low, rough husk of his tone, and the warm, commanding pressure of his hands, felt overwhelming. Incomprehensible. When he leaned in to kiss Mathias again, and his tongue pushed into Mathias’ mouth in a demanding, selfish hunt for satisfaction, Mathias moaned.

Flynn’s hands moved to the front of his pants, groping hungrily to see if his cock was responding to everything that was happening in a blur around them. Mathias was only half aware that yes, he was starting to get hard – his body was supplicant to a man’s touch, even in altered states. This altered state particularly seemed to bring with it a powerful intensification of sensation. He felt every single blunt end of Flynn’s stubble scratching his face, tasted every breath being shared between their lungs, and as Flynn began to undo his pants he could feel his fingers shaking as if he was trying to restrain himself.

Why? It wasn’t like Mathias could stop him.

Once his pants were unlaced, Flynn sat back so he could strip them off – he cast aside Mathias’s boots and upon removal, the knife he had tucked there fell uselessly against the sheets. The blade must have caught what little light there was, pouring into the apartment through the uncurtained window. Flynn saw it. He picked up the knife, almost in awe, and weighed it in his hand.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

He tested the point with his finger. Mathias could barely make him out, his shape traced in silver, and seeing him holding the thing made his heart leap to the root of his throat. If his limbs hadn’t felt like lead, and if he had any kind of control over his muscles, he would have knocked the thing out of his hand.

_No. please._

“Good to see you like to bring protection.”

He tipped the knifepoint down, so the end was hovering mere millimeters from the hollow at the base of Mathias’ throat. Every fiber in Mathias’ body was _screaming_ in panic - he thought his heart might explode out of his chest, and a million different thoughts flickered through his mind at once. Fragments of ideas. Anxieties. Memories of someone else cloaked in darkness, who had also pressed a dagger point against him. The beautiful trauma of a first kiss, and of a last one.

Mathias felt tears prick the rims of his eyes. His chest heaved, rising and falling with all the power his limbs lacked. Flynn’s weight shifted above him, and he leaned back, breathing the blade down the center of Mathias’ breastbone, over his navel towards his cock. Mathias waited to feel the cold slice of metal through skin - waited for his sweaty flank to be split open and for another scar to be added to the library of marks on his ribs. He waited for it, breath held deep in his lungs, but it did not come. Instead, Flynn laughed lightly and moved the knife away. He turned the handle away from himself, and groped for one of Mathias’ limp hands in the darkness.

“Go on then, Spymaster. Let me see what you got.”

Mathias felt him press the dagger into his hand, and push his fingers around the handle insistently. Mathias tried to grip it with all that he had, but for some reason it just wouldn’t work. The handle felt alien in his palm – the knife he had carried with him for twenty years felt foreign, like it belonged to a stranger. It was much like the first time he had wielded the thing, a gift from a doomed man’s hand, and he hadn’t yet figured out how to carry the weight of that provenance.

Mathias tried to prop himself up and push Flynn back off him. The effort manifested in a weak squirm against the mattress. The hand holding the knife flailed weakly when Flynn released it, dropping like dead weight and catching a raking arc over the thick of Flynn’s upper arm. He sucked his teeth in surprise and pain at the sting.

“Is that it?” He asked, but the pitch in his voice broke a little at the crest of the question. “Fuck, you really are out of it huh?”

He shrugged off his shirt, not minding the spreading blossom of dark blood on the left hand sleeve, and began unlacing the front of his own pants. Mathias wanted to say something, to spit poison at him, to be silenced by rough hands or a rough kiss. Instead, he was stripped of the dagger – Flynn took it off him and stabbed it, deep enough that it could stand there without quivering, into the bedpost behind Mathias’ head. The cracking sound it made jolted him, and Flynn sighed in satisfaction.

“I’m gonna do that to you with my dick,” He said.

Mathias had no choice but to go where he was forced, rolled onto his stomach and pressed up the bed so his face was buried deep in one of the pillows. Behind him, Flynn was positioning himself, and he had found the oil Mathias kept in the side table. One of his hands rested softly on the small of Mathias’ back. The other slipped between his legs, brushing fleetingly against his erection and then up, so the lubricated fingertips were teasing the spot he intended to enter him.

Oh light. He intended to enter him. The thought was incoherent, but it had meaning enough that Mathias knew what to expect as those fingers rubbed him softly. The sensation was deep, heightened by the addled state of mind, and his dick was so hard now that it felt like the last shreds of self-awareness he had was localized there, in the cradle of his pelvis. Those last shreds though, were in a maelstrom of fear – it mingled with his arousal, amplified by the useless way he lay there, drowning in the pleasure of being teased open. When Flynn slid his fingertip inside, Mathias shivered.

“I’d ask you to tell me if it’s too much,” Flynn murmured, and he was hovering right over Mathias’s shoulder, his hair tickling the side of his face. “but you seem a bit drunk, if you don’t mind me saying.”

He added another digit, finger fucking him with a surprising degree of tenderness given the circumstances, and his mouth brushed lightly against the edge of Mathias’ ear. It felt good, even as every instinct in his body cried out that he should run. Push him off. Get him away.

He was able to claw his hands up the blanket, finding purchase on the edge of the pillow his face was pressed against. That was all. Flynn began moving his hand harder, the heel of it pressing against the bridge of skin between his entrance and his balls. Mathias thought he could feel Flynn’s cock skate over the back of his thigh as he straddled his legs. In this position, even if he _had_ had power over his legs, he didn’t think he would be able to dislodge him. He felt so small and insignificant under the Kul Tiran bulk of him. His muscles were dense and powerful, and his weight pushed Mathias low into the mattress he lay on.

Flynn’s fingers, of course, were hitting him _just_ right. They curled to massage the place inside himself that he loved. He felt his eyes tip back, his pathetic grip on the pillow tightening. Pleasure was searing through every numbed inch of him, and it felt all the more overwhelming through the wooly haze.

He was going to cum.

Mathias’s shook so hard through his orgasm that it might have been a spasm, and where his muscles found the strength to contract like that he didn’t know. It seemed to tear through him, almost painful in how wonderful it felt, and he wondered if he screamed into the pillow or just inside the confides of his skull. His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts, but Flynn was still fingering him and the continued contact was agonizing. Between his stomach and the bedsheets, a wet spot, hot and uncomfortable.

“Cum harder why don’t you,” Flynn murmured, finally moving his fingers and lining up the head of his cock to impale him. “You masochist.”

He brought a hand sharply across the side of Mathias’s ass, smacking him in a way that made his skin sting. Mathias gasped, and Flynn used the moment of shock to press inside, an intrusion that felt so big and so fucking _hot,_ Mathias thought he might lose the last grip of whatever it was that still made him conscious.

Flynn keened softly at the complete lack of resistance he met with, sheathed all the way so his balls pressed against Mathias’ ass. An experimental tilt of his hips, Mathias’s body still accommodated. When he rocked against him, Mathias made a breathy sound, unable to tell him that the penetration felt good, but that that pleasure was creeping over him like a cold sweat. The adrenaline in his blood was beginning to surface, breaking out on the backs of his hands and over his shoulders and along every nerve from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes. Flynn began fucking him at a slow, but firm pace, vocalizing his own pleasure with soft noises of awe, as though Mathias’ body was nothing more than an object from which he might derive satisfaction.

The thought thrilled Mathias, amplifying the sensation of ecstasy, morphing it into something almost akin to humiliation. Shame. Agony. The boundaries between these things were as weak as his muscles were in that moment, and a feeling like climax was coming upon him again except, unlike climax, this feeling did not crest at all it _soared._ It arced through him, a rush of bliss, and the ache of Flynn taking him after so recently making him cum turned to nothing. The only thing he was conscious of was his borders unfolding, a tremendous blooming in his core, and far away the sound of Flynn groaning as he finished without bothering to pull out at all.

Here he was, at the edge of oblivion. A realm which was endless, and deep.

After what might have been eons, or might have been mere minutes, his infinity began to knit into the equally bottomless realm of sleep.

….

Every bone in his body seemed to ache when he woke up in the morning, face down in the pillow, but the sheets were warm and the mattress was soft. Beside him, a warm body was resting peacefully. When Mathias rolled over onto his back, he winced, realizing that he must have just gone to sleep the night before without taking the time to clean himself up. It looked like Flynn had tried, but obviously Mathias had been unconscious and there were some places that couldn’t be reached too well when he was passed out in the middle of the bed. The slats beneath him creaked as he shifted his weight, and beside him, Flynn stirred. His hair was a mess, looking as it usually did when he stumbled into bed with it wet and unbrushed, and on his left bicep over a beautiful tattoo of a constellation map, a long, thin gash left by a knife. It looked like it had not fully scabbed overnight, and there were spots of blood all over the sheets on his side.

 _Did I do that_?

He had a vague recollection that he had, but it was so… dark and hazy he couldn’t be entirely sure.

“… Flynn?” Mathias’s voice was hoarse. He felt terribly sick – worse than hungover. The body beside him grunted in reply.

“’mawake,” he said sleepily, all in one syllable. 

Mathias stared at him for a moment, taking in his freckles, his stubby eyelashes, the beginnings of etchings like birds feet at the corners of his eyes. His heart skipped a beat.

“… Are you all right?”

“Mmm.” Flynn opened one eye and peered at him blearily. “’Course I’m alright, love. Are you alright?”

“I’m…” Mathias glanced at the bedside table, where a glass of water and a dish of dried fruits sat on top of a book about the history of Kalimdor. The sun was pouring through the window of the apartment, and Flynn's things – his coat and his cutlasses and a few dog-eared romance novels - were heaped on the armchair in the corner of the room. He kept telling Mathias not to touch them, that he would get around to sorting them out eventually, but it had been months and months and Mathias was beginning to believe that wasn’t going to happen. “I’m fine. Aside from the pounding headache.”

The headache was expected. A side effect from the dose of black lotus. Mathias had been administering it in professional contexts for years – he knew it wasn’t always the most enjoyable thing to purge from the system, but now he felt a little bit of empathy for all those orcs he had rendered unconscious.

Flynn shut his eye, sleepy smile spreading over his face.

“Starmoss,” He suggested. “will fix that right up.”

“I think, no more herbs for a while.” Mathias rubbed his head with one hand, and reached for the glass of water with the other. He drained it all in one go, and it was cool and clean and delicious. He felt better almost immediately. “I barely remember anything after…. you paid the barman to look the other way.”

Flynn grunted.

“I wasn’t about to get arrested in the name of getting you off.” He said, almost defensively. “Not again.”

Mathias felt a small smile curve his lips, a soft swell of affection rising in his chest.

“Did I like it?” He asked, and Flynn nodded into the pillow.

“You did cum, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Did you?”

The eye opened again, brighter this time and more alert.

“Check,” He said. Mathias felt himself flush.

“Ah. Gross. Please remind me to change the sheets, I accidentally rolled over when I woke up.”

Flynn laughed and gingerly pushed himself upright into a seated position – almost as though he was also experiencing a few muscle aches. Usually, a double shot of whiskey (or half a bottle, even) wouldn’t affect him like this in the morning. Perhaps having his tongue in a mouth full of lotus hadn’t done him any favors either.

“You didn’t think it was gross last night.”

“No, I don’t imagine I did.”

Mathias let him take his wrist and pull him close enough to kiss his temple, and the side of his cheek. His warmth was delicious, and his touch was always so gentle it made Mathias melt. Deep in the back of his mind, a memory flickered, like a shadow on a wall cast by candlelight. It was nebulous, emotive, and completely disconnected from the solid, real world he was occupying now. But it was wonderful. Breathless. Overwhelming. He could feel himself stirring with arousal despite the aches and pains. 

“I have an idea,” he murmured, and Flynn hummed, nuzzling the side of his neck and laying silky kisses along his jaw.

“What kind of an idea?”

“Let me go clean up, and you can help remind me what happened after we left the bar.”

Flynn paused his light kisses, and for a moment Mathias thought he would decline, but after a few seconds he felt him nod.

“I’d love to. Bring me a chunk of bread when you come back? Maybe with some jam on it?”

“Is that a request?”

Flynn laughed, brushing a hand against the small of Mathias’ back.

“Tides no, love. That is an order.”


End file.
